Overcome
by Kyrieath
Summary: Written to accompany a DenxNor FST of the same name; dark and not in the least fluffy. PostWWIII, Denmark finally crosses the waters to see what has become of Norway and then begins picking up the pieces...whether Norway wishes him to or not.
1. 0 L'autre Mond

Author: Cyhirae  
Edited: Lumineux

Rating is for: Mild language, somewhat more than mildly suggestive themes/situations. No lemon here though, folks. Seek thine citrus elsewhere.

Notes: This fic is the result of an FST project between me and Lumineux; the full thing will soon be posted up on the Hetalia Livejournal community. :) The chapter titles will not make much (well, frankly, they won't make ANY) sense unless you know what songs are being referenced. The story is intended to be read alongside listening to the songs; this is not a songfic. The actual lyrics do not appear in this work. It also is a bit fragmented and that is intentional given it was following the songs chosen. This takes place just at the tail end of the hypothetical doomsday war of World War III. The most history mentioned are vague, if frequent, references to the plagues and famine that hit Norway at one point and the kingdom of Denmark-Norway as the last vestiges of the Kalmar Union.

Disclaimer: Hetalia, the characters and the songs referenced are not mine or Lumineux's; they belong to their respective creators. We just borrowed them for this dark little story.

* * *

"_De ville ikke ha våget ...De ville ikke ha våget …_"

Like a prayer for strength, Norway continued that chant in his own mind once his voice gave out. He stumbled through the long, dark corridor that had led to the shelter. No, once they would not have dared even think of attacking him. The very thought would have sent all but the bravest -or most foolish- of people running to find where they left their sanity.

Norway could remember those days; why did it seem like no one else did? He paused in the darkness to lean against the wall; he could hear water flowing freely from a broken pipe somewhere; the corridor itself was rank with the smell of smoke and ruin. This corridor had been brightly lit when he had first come down it…how long ago?

He didn't know. The world had lost its mind again; and since then he and his people had been hiding deep within the shelters that had been promised to withstand such an assault as World War III. They had hunkered down and waited…Norway could count how many of those shelters had failed to uphold that promise. He had felt each as a blow to himself, the people who had counted on them barely having time to acknowledge their own fate before it was upon them.

That had not been the worst of it. Even after the final missile landed, deaths had continued. Water was contaminated, food was in short supply and no one dared venture out. The early days had not been bad; but days inevitably gave way to weeks, weeks became months…had they even gone so far as years, perhaps?

Human nature had won out. A different war had begun then, this time among his people- those who had never had a true revolution or rebellion in all of his existence, they turned on one another. The stronger, more organized ones survived while the weaker were overrun and their food taken.

Norway shuddered, arms crossing over himself as pain wracked him again; he had never known the agony of civil war- if this could be called that. He had kept himself hidden in that shelter as long as he could; even after those who had been there with him had either left or died. He hadn't been able to stand it any longer; he had to try to find those who were the most prominent and convince them to stop the fighting and start the recovery instead. Before this killed them all.

He pushed away from the wall, feeling dampness and muck come away with him as he began the slow climb back up into the world above. The corridor stank of more than the fall out of above; the lack of anything resembling light kept him mercifully blind to the things over which he stumbled in the darkness. Part of his mind knew; both the scent and the size of the forms from the days he raided across the seas…he had found those who had fled the shelter. Once he would have felt their precise deaths when they happened…but they had instead been just one more pain among so many as to render him numb.

If they had all stopped here, then the exit couldn't be far. Had they been unable to open it? Norway fumbled around in the shadows along the wall as he went until at last he touched an inlaid stone ladder; this had been a newer shelter, built when it was understood how metal could conduct radiation and then keep it even from the new bombs. Above the ladder then, should be the way out. He climbed up the rough stone unsteadily, feeling upward until he found the hatch; still sealed, even after the wheel had been turned. They hadn't been able to open it.

Norway shoved against the hatch with increasing desperation; he knew why they had died in that corridor now. A frustrated, despairing cry tore free as he continued to throw himself against the hatch; if he didn't act soon, this would be his tomb as well. Again and again he threw his shoulder against it, growing near mindless in the desperation that took him.

He didn't notice when it finally began to move; suddenly it was gone from above him with the next attempt and he was throwing himself out of the corridor in the sudden absence of the barrier. Body aching where it had not simply gone numb, Norway pulled himself up to look around for some sign of where to go.

Thought of finding the current 'leaders' died as his eyes adjusted to the painfully bright light after so long in the dark. The sky was heavy with smoke even now; it was all he could see. There should have been more here; buildings, homes, businesses….

There was nothing. The sky was bare of even a single building. He looked down slowly in what he knelt; ash, broken pieces of stone and crumbling mortar…the corpse of a building's foundation and little more. More like it were spread about along the ground, silent tombstones among the gray and black ashen light of the world.

Norway stumbled to his feet, shaking his head as he went. This couldn't be right; he had to be having a nightmare. It couldn't simply all be gone, not like this. In all of his days as a raider, he had never seen such devastation, never brought it on any other. A village wiped off the map, a town plundered…but never such a total destruction of….of everything.

The unsteady walk became a stumbling run as Norway ran through the streets, calling out for someone to answer him. His voice was rough from doing nothing but that soft, quiet chant as he sought his freedom; now it was soaring brokenly over the ruin, calling out to his people.

No one answered. The words soon lost their shape, becoming ragged screams as he finally fell into the street, curling up amid the ruin as he clenched his eyes shut in denial. Once, they wouldn't have dared strike at him for fear of what it would bring back on them.

Once…was a very long time ago.


	2. 1  Spirit of Memories

Author: Cyhirae  
Edited: Lumineux

Disclaimer: Hetalia, the characters and the songs referenced are not mine or Lumineux's; they belong to their respective creators. We just borrowed them for this dark little story.

* * *

Empty foundations were the kindest thing to meet his eyes as Norway wandered the 'streets' of the city. He couldn't even recall its name now; part of him was in denial to think it may have been his capital. This devastated wasteland couldn't be that.

The more cruel things to greet his gaze were the evidence of those who had perhaps survived the bombing itself; people who had come here to seek shelter without knowing they were going into a graveyard. There were not even carrion birds left any longer to have cleaned the remains to the bone where they appeared.

There was only the gray, ashy remains of the city to the wind had been kind enough to provide as a poor blanket in place of soil; masking the devastation weather and fall out alike had surely done. Norway stumbled away from a foundation that contained what had looked to be a whole family, huddled against a half wall that had somehow survived.

There had to be someone; he was still here. He could feel them; why couldn't he find them?

The blond stumbled, then proceeded to run through the ash, rubble and corpse laden streets; his barely used voice raised in near hysterical cries for anyone to answer him. He lost track of the turns he took in the dead city, no longer knew it as he once had- it was as dead to him as any of the corpses.

Dead, alien; not his. Not anyone's. This piece of earth no longer lived.

The screams tapered off as Norway stumbled again, this time falling to his knees in the ash. Tears made a weak attempt to clear the ash and dust from his cheeks, to keep him from being as gray and ruined as the land around him.

It hurt too much; he couldn't find them. He never would; he was dying, much as this city and his people within it had. He had been all along; he just hadn't understood it.

Norway swayed and let himself fall completely into the ash; he would let it bury him as it had his people. What hope did he have if he could not even find them?

~oOo~

Denmark stepped slowly off the ship that had brought him and the other rescuers across the sea; to a port that could only barely be called that. The piers were burned and rotted where wood had survived; the metal was to be avoided at all costs.

He wore the same suit as them all, though only for their peace of mind; he didn't need it. His people were still strong, still protected; the war had done little to them or the land on which they lived. He was a bit tougher, a bit more scarred, perhaps…but he had come out strong from the chaos, as he always had.

The same couldn't be said for the land before him. He stood on the soil as the searchers began to pile off the ship, though the hopeful mood that they had done all they could to keep alive on the journey was gone. How could anything be alive here?

The rescuers were working on setting up their encampment; a rescue center but one they plainly didn't think would see much use as that. Denmark walked away from them, leaving the whole behind swiftly. Everything looked the same here; there was no point of reference, no land mark he could make out. The missiles had left nothing standing at all.

He closed his eyes, imagining a different Norway; the trees, the bitterly cold but clean air…a sky that impossible blue one saw only in the colder regions of the world, spreading over the city of Oslo and its mix of new and old. A testament to the Norwegians themselves and their iron clad determination to not let change take over.

And most importantly, a rather dour and blond man standing in the street ahead of him beneath that sky, informing him of what he thought of Denmark's latest caper. That was what should have been here.

He walked in those memories, the phantom of Norway at his side as they passed by the landmarks that no longer stood in that stricken, ashy reality. Only the sound of the shorter blond's voice could not be summoned forth; the crunch of ash and rubble beneath his boots could not be denied.

"Where are you..?" He finally asked the phantom what he most wanted to know; and received the same look he surely would have from the genuine thing. But still no sound; the lips moved to form words that had no substance; then he began to walk again. Denmark watched him go, then ran after, but now the memory was moving too fast for all the seemingly lazy walk.

At last it turned a corner to disappear; and the ash laden reality crashed back into being. The blue skies, the parks, buildings new and old…they were all gone, as was Norway. Denmark threw the hood to the hazmat suit aside, bitter curses thrown into the cloud laden darkness.

Too long; they had waited much too long. It had been several years; no one had been allowed to approach Norway for fear of the radiation and whatever diseases other weapons may have dispersed among the people. They had to wait for the radiation to die down and to get the tools needed to clean it ready; they had had to prepare vaccines and medicine for the diseases and illnesses.

All of that, while Norway had been dying. If he had even survived the attack. He found himself hoping he may not have; what if there had been survivors slowly fading off? If he had to die in this, he could hope it had been quick and clean…

"He's alive." Denmark shook his head and proceeded to storm through the streets; he wasn't dead. Norway had lived too long to fall to something like this. "You're _alive_, Norge; now tell me where the hell you are!"

The demand fell flat among the ruined foundations; not even the phantom born from his memories reappeared again. Tears began to sting his eyes more than even the ever present ash; he could barely see when his next stride set something flying loose from the ash piled in the streets, chiming surprisingly loud as it found a place to rest amid the rubble.

Denmark paused and stared hard at the unearthed item. He shook his head again, this time to shake the tears away as he stared and willed his eyes to focus. Was he imagining it? The blurriness departed his vision to reveal the small cross shaped clip resting there. It was tarnished but whole; and most importantly, it gave off none of that sickening feeling of metal tainted by radiation.

The tall nation hurried to the clip and cradled it in his fingers as he looked around; it was Norway's, no mistaking it…and it hadn't been here when the bombs fell. It was too clean in all ways for it to have been. But a quick check of the figures beneath the ash nearest where he found it revealed only Norwegians…not Norway himself.

He had nearly given up when he noticed it; indents in the ash like footprints in snow. Shallow now and fading steadily as the wind blew more and more ash to fill them in, but he could still make them out. And they crossed where his own path had halted. He looked desperately along them; some were still deeper than others- the fresher ones, he hoped.

Denmark ran along the path then, discarding the rest of the suit as an inconvenience while he ran. The wind seemed determined to sweep the trail away and his steps grew slower as he realized he could no longer tell the tracks from what might simply be the ash settling more firmly. He clutched the clip tightly as he scanned the ash desperately for some sign of the vanished trail; nothing. There was simply no more trail to follow; the wind had erased it.

Frustration and raged clawed at the Dane's throat as he cursed the wind and began to move forward again; the ash was so much thicker here. It wafted through the air like the pure snows Norway had once been known for, mocking him as he searched desperately for any clue.

There were so many bodies in this place; or perhaps they were simply harder to avoid since he could barely make anything out beneath the ash. He eventually stopped wincing as he found one corpse after another with his boots, resigned to the inevitability of it…until one of those corpses groaned at him. He stumbled back in surprise, then dove into the ash, throwing handful after handful aside….

Purple was what the ash revealed as it was scooped aside; purple cloth and blond hair. Denmark seized the figure up as it groaned again, tears falling freely now but with no curse…only a softly spoken word, offered up like a prayer of gratitude.

"Norge…"


	3. 2 Haunted and Devoured

Author: Cyhirae  
Edited: Lumineux

Disclaimer: Hetalia, the characters and the songs referenced are not mine or Lumineux's; they belong to their respective creators. We just borrowed them for this dark little story.

* * *

Awareness came and went in strange flows not unlike a tide to Norway. One moment, he was on the seas, leading his people to one raid after another in their explorations…then he was sitting in that shelter where only darkness could be seen. He rebelled against that second image and the other returned to him, of the days when he stood strong.

Then they withered before him, as his people fell to plague and famine. He felt it ravage him even as it did them, as the flames of radiation and biological weapons would in the days of that dark shelter….

And that brought on something comforting and terrifying in its own right: someone holding him, assuring everything would be taken care of. He didn't have to face it alone or at all; Denmark would do it all.

Tend the sick; bring the food. Take the 'burden' of self rulership away and let them recover freely. And Norway had agreed; a mistake he had had nearly four hundred years and some more to regret. He had sworn to himself if he ever had the chance, he would take himself and his people as their own again, free of anyone's control, well intentioned or otherwise.

It had finally come true; he willed those images to his consciousness, to remember that he had gotten it. So why was the only thing coming to his mind the feeling of being held, the sensation of bars closing in?

And why of all things in this dead and desolate no man's land was he hearing Denmark?

"Just rest, Norge; we've got it being taken care of." He could even feel the other walking; carrying him, just as back in the days of the plague. "The survivors are being gathered up, you don't have to worry. We'll be at my house soon; your people are coming too. We've got room for them; it'll be just like before."

A feeling of sickening realization struck Norway's mind then; this was not a memory. It was not a vision. Denmark was truly here, carrying him…promising to take care of it all….

To put him right back in that cage he'd taken so long to escape.

"N…no…." Norway forced his eyes open, staring up at Denmark's ash stained face. One hand reached out and pushed uselessly against his chin. "Put...me down. Leave. We…we will…"

"Norge! You're awake!" Denmark didn't even bother to acknowledge the attempted shove; he looked too relieved to even care. "It's alright; we've got it all in hand. The evacuation is going smoothly; they found a few with radios still! It's a miracle you all lasted this long!"

The relief was touching; it had been back then too, when Denmark had found him among the dead and dying victims of the plague, attempting to find some food for a starving family. He had always been ready to come in, to help and take over all of the needs.

"Not…this time." Norway hardened himself against that relief; if he gave in he knew what would follow. It always did. "Danmark…not…this time." His voice was rusty with disuse; had he been anything but a nation incarnate, he would have likely been unable to speak at all or half mad to realize how long he had been alone, unspeaking in that dark place.

"Shh, stop talking Norge. I heard you; but just look at yourself!" The Dane drew to a halt finally; around them, Norway could hear the sound of many people talking, nearly all of them Danes themselves. In the name of mercy, he was being invaded by Denmark. Again.

Then his attention was caught by what Denmark had stopped before; a large van, polished steel-silver and glinting even in this ash-veiled land…the reflection was slightly distorted but still visible. The Dane looked the same as ever; tall and confident- perfectly full of himself and his good intentions. The other figure, set on his feet and held there only by Denmark, Norway barely recognized. It looked so frail; starved to a near skeleton and clothed in rags that barely remembered they'd once been purple. The hair was limp and matted with ash, what skin could be seen at all unnaturally pallid.

Not even the plague had ravaged him so. Just how many of his people had he lost?

The hand Denmark put on his shoulder all but engulfed it as he pat gently, seemingly afraid of doing harm to the smaller nation by even that slight motion.

"See? So we'll just-"

"We are doing nothing!" Norway coughed as he forced that out above the near whispers he'd so far found himself constrained to; this was suddenly all too familiar. History was playing itself out before him again, nearly by wrote. He stumbled away from Denmark's startled touch, all but throwing himself toward that truck, then turning to lean his back to it. He leveled what he hoped was a properly defiant glare at the Dane. "I am going to find my people; and I am going to-" His voice broke off in a fit of coughing, nearly doubling over from the force of it.

Denmark began to move toward him then, a pained and somewhat condescending half smile in place. It fell off, however, when his outstretched hand was struck away by the coughing nation. His eyes narrowed as Norway continued to back away, looking somewhat wild eyed and panicked, to his mind.

"Come on, Norge; I know you like to keep your distance but just listen to yourself!" Denmark kept his tone level with effort; yelling at Norway for being a fool wasn't going to get him to listen. "You can barely talk or breathe; imagine what that means for your people!"

The other nation mutely shook his head, still withdrawing one step for every one Denmark took toward him. Denmark mentally counted, timing it as he watched the other's movements, then lunged to the side as Norway tried to bolt, grabbing a hold of the ruined nation's arm and dragging him back toward him.

It was sickeningly easily to do; Norway had hardly any strength left. It was no trouble at all to dismiss his struggles and turn him again to pin his back against him, wrists caught and forcibly pressed against the smaller nation's chest. He knelt down as Norway tried to kick out at him, using his weight to force the other down to his knees.

"God, Norge! Calm down, I'm not going to hurt you!" Frustration and confusion both painted Denmark's tone as the other still struggled to get some kind of ground against him, twisting this way and that ineffectively to break the hold.

Just what the hell had happened to Norway all this time alone to turn him so damned near feral? He was acting more like a beast than a person; afraid to let anyone close. He had taken terrible losses before and never been this wild for them.

"Let me go! Let me go, Danmark!" Though it grew no stronger, the struggling had grown more wild; Denmark tightened his grip enough that Norway began to cough again as his lungs found themselves restricted. "I am not going with you!" The words finally forced themselves out through the coughs and gasped for breaths; Denmark shook his head slightly then pressed his cheek against ash matted hair.

Norway was still lost and panicked by all that had happened; that had to be it. Finally Denmark stood again once the coughing eased up for the smaller nation, scooping him up as he went. It was pathetically easy to do so; Norway hardly weighed a thing any longer.

"It's over, Norge; you're safe now. Calm down; I'll take care of everything from now on." Words meant to reassure only seemed to bring forth a kind of panic again, though this time at least, it lacked any real attempt to escape. He simply didn't have the strength to keep struggling, it seemed.

Denmark began walking to the ships, keeping the other nestled firmly against him. All that mattered now was to get him to his home so Norway could start recovering; he wouldn't make the same mistakes this time he had before. He let Norway go his own way for a couple centuries and look what happened to him.

Not this time; he'd not let Norway go again. Not in all of this turmoil.

"Just rest; the pain will stop soon and then you can start healing. Nothing can hurt you anymore." That was a bit of a lie; there were those in Norway who, like the nation himself, were resisting the aid Denmark was bringing. They were understandably panicked and suspicious of the world outside of their safe havens now.

Of course Norway was being unreasonable and panicked; every last one of his people were acting that way. He would simply have to treat the other the same way for now; make him accept the aid and understand it was for his own good. Once he saw Europe proper, he'd understand this was for the best.

Once his people began recovering and grasping that they no longer had to fight over tainted scraps of land and food like mad dogs, they'd all get better. Until then, he'd just have to shield the smaller nation and take the rejections in stride. Norway would understand soon enough this was what he needed.

Denmark sighed in relief as he watched the other's eyes close finally, exhaustion taking its toll. It wasn't how he would have preferred to get Norway to stop struggling, but it worked in his favor. He settled the other onto his bunk once on the ship and sat on the floor beside it. Now he could fully take stock of the harm done to Norway and swallowed a bitter curse before gently pulling the blanket up over him.

Yes, he would take care of Norway from here on; just like in the days following the plague and famine. He'd take all the pain the world wanted to throw and keep Norway safe behind him. He was far too weak and frail now to do so himself. He would protest and struggle, but eventually he'd know it was all for his own good. The Norwegians would be settled somewhere safer than the wasteland their homeland had become and Norway himself would stay in his house.

It would be just like the days of Denmark-Norway again. Norway would understand just like he did back then it was what all for his own sake and accept it. Smiling at the thought, Denmark settled against the bunk and eventually drifted off himself.

If Norway dreamed of the days of traversing the seas, Denmark dreamed of the years that followed; when he never had to wonder how those under his aegis were doing. If he prospered, then they prospered with him.

And that was simply how it should always be, wasn't it?


	4. 3 Solitary King of Sandmen

Author: Cyhirae  
Edited: Lumineux

Disclaimer: Hetalia, the characters and the songs referenced are not mine or Lumineux's; they belong to their respective creators. We just borrowed them for this dark little story.

* * *

The path across the waters back to his home had not been an easy one to traverse for Denmark. It had not been due to any storms or attacks; it had all been due to Norway's continued poor health and panic attacks when he did awaken. They never lasted for long at least, as the nation barely had the strength to even sit up.

The thing that worried Denmark most was how rarely Norway did awaken. The trip was slow by necessity; many of those they carried on the returning ships were of frail health. The most dire cases that could be moved had been given priority in being sent across; the Dane had since decided he would not allow even one to be neglected.

They were all Norway's life; he could barely afford to lose even one, let alone as many as now suffered on the ships as they went. Once this load was deposited; the ships would refuel, rotate crews and head back immediately. Denmark would not be going with them this time, however. He had his own work to do here in that frail, frighteningly quiet figure he carried ashore once the ships docked.

The Dane watched from his window as the ships left for the ruined land again, then turned his attention to the city below the window of Norway's room. They had not evaded all damage in the war that was now winding down across the globe to mere skirmishes as budgets ran thin, populations thinned and productivity dropped. Here and there, burns showed across buildings, others bore marks of bullets or shrapnel that had scarred them….

But there was none of the all encompassing radiation, none of the disease, that had so devastated Norway. Small though they were, the land he called his own had protection simply by where it stood. Perhaps Germany was no longer the terror it had been in the previous war, but it was nothing to rile lightly either; it was also the more tempting target if one was going to fire a missile in this direction.

And unlike Norway, the Danes had not forgotten how they had dealt with the last war. They had not tried to stand against powers they could not defeat; and like before, those powers had been collapsed in on themselves. No one ruled Denmark for long but Denmark; it was all in knowing when to bow and pay lip service while hedging your bets.

Those across the water had been too proud to play that game; and they had paid for it. Ships had been sent to Sweden and Finland as well, but Denmark had his doubts of hearing anything hopeful. Norway had been struck less harshly than the other two.

He only had to glance to the bed to know how much damage 'less harshly' still rated as.

Denmark sighed and then moved to pull the drapes open as wide as he could; Norway had reacted poorly whenever he had turned off the light of the cabin; so now he made sure the room was well lit by natural, warm light. Their skies were not free of the ash that drifted from the lands across the sea but it was more a haze than a thick, cruel cloud.

Nuclear winter, they were claiming, was beginning to settle onto the world. In Denmark, at least, one could still see blue sky. In much of Europe, that was already impossible…their skies were as dark as Norway's, allowing only a pitiful amount of light. Perhaps it would spread here in time as cities continued to smolder into ruin, too tainted for anyone to dare approach and douse properly.

But it was, at least, not their buildings adding fuel to the forth coming winter.

Denmark turned from the window and approached the bed; Norway was looking better, if only for having had the ash washed away and rags replaced with a simple warm shift. His expression was still haunted by something, soft denials rising from him even in his sleep…but he stirred less restlessly as Denmark watched. The taller nation chose to take that as a positive sign and pulled the blankets up a bit higher before turning to leave for the time being.

It would be many weeks before Norway was healthy enough to do anything more than rest. For now, all Denmark could do was continue to save the smaller nation's people and pray it was enough.

~oOo~

The weeks passed slowly, but eventually Norway began to stay awake for longer periods of time; an hour or two at first, then longer intervals until something like a proper sleep cycle had begun again. The coughing did not vanish altogether but it gradually loosened its hold on his lungs and throat so he could breath more naturally and begin to speak once more.

The bed had begun to feel more like a prison, but he lay in it all the same at Denmark's insistence; one backed by the threat to flat out bind him to said bed if he tried to disregard it. He had little interest in seeing if it was simply the Dane's sense of humor or a legitimate threat. Instead, he was simply listening to a radio as he stared out the window. The sky had grown darker since he had first woken to see it, but slowly so. The ocean winds favored Denmark in the same way they had the shores of Norway, pushing the worst of it all back inland.

And Denmark had no high ridge of mountains and glaciers to prevent it from doing just that. Once again, the destruction of a World War was failing to find any permanent foothold among the Danes. They had taken their hits and losses as all did when the world went insane, but they would pick themselves up, dust off and start rebuilding where they had to.

From everything the radio was saying, most of Europe could not say the same. He listened to the weather reports talking of the incoming ash storms over the heart of Europe, of the steadily growing cold that gripped Russia far too early in the seasons.

He heard about dying crops, tainted water and people dying as illnesses humans had tampered with were set loose. And most of all, he heard the reports of battles that were still being fought, among all the devastation.

They were dying; everyone had already lost this war. And they were still fighting. Norway clenched his eyes shut, uttering a short, soft curse to the ceiling above.

"Damn fools, all of them..."

Every last one of those who still fought were fools. He didn't even know which countries were still doing it; the radio announcer seemed uncertain themselves for who the still combating forces belonged to. All they were doing was announcing where the fighting was, to warn anyone away. There were no reports about other parts of the world. No one knew what was happening in Asia, Africa, Australia or the Americas.

_Just as well_, Norway decided. _I'm hearing enough idiocy as it is from Europe alone._

Suddenly the radio went silent; Norway opened his eyes again to weakly bat at the antenna to try to get the station to come back in. As he listened though, he realized the station had not gone out, he could hear people talking, the news caster's voice among them. The tones were near hysterical and panicked…he strained to make out what they were saying.

An explosion, a scream…and the radio fell into the dead silence of an empty signal. Norway's hand shook on the dial as he recalled similar cries, then he dropped back down to the bed. He rolled over onto his side, eyes closing.

_Once again, just as well_. Norway curled up beneath the blanket and laid there, willing sleep to come. _There wasn't anything worth hearing anyway._

Yet he made no move to turn the radio off; he let the white noise fill the room and listened to catch any sudden shifts in sound in that static. Perhaps the station had simply caught the edge of a shell and their transmitter knocked out. Then they'd be back on the air in short order, no doubt; people wanted those reports.

As the blond nation finally felt sleep claim him, however, the radio remained silent.


	5. 4 Sibylla in Eden

Author: Cyhirae  
Edited: Lumineux

Disclaimer: Hetalia, the characters and the songs referenced are not mine or Lumineux's; they belong to their respective creators. We just borrowed them for this dark little story.

* * *

Denmark listened as the radio in the other room went through various frequencies; since the assault on the primary news center of France, there had been no transmissions such a radio could pick up. He didn't see any reason to tell Norway that there was nothing to hear anymore. The smaller nation surely knew already. Perhaps the details weren't Norway's to know but days of scanning frequencies had to have brought that point home to roost.

The Dane rose from his chair and walked to the door; he had put Norway's room just off his primary office's chambers. He all but lived in that part of his house now. He couldn't remember the last time he had seen his own bed. The couch was plenty comfortable at least and he had wanted to be on hand if the other nation had made any needs known.

The only thing he had asked for, however, was that radio. Denmark stood in the doorway, watching him turn through the frequencies. It hadn't been a mystery why Norway had made that request; he must have recalled Denmark's comment that some of his people had still had functioning radios that had picked up the messages sent as the ships approached. Some of them had even possessed the kind that could send, not merely receive.

The Dane shook his head but kept his silence. There would be no messages coming from the far north of Europe; every Norwegian who had possessed such things had already been evacuated. And they had never had power enough to cross the waters; weak signals were easily lost amid all the radiation. He couldn't bring himself to say it to the smaller nation, however.

Norway was still so very weak; his people were recovering but they numbered so few. Denmark had no doubt they would maintain their identity as Norwegians; that absolute abhorrence they had for change would see to that. But he doubted they would ever be numerous enough to count as a country again. A city, perhaps…

Yes, he could probably convince his boss to let him establish something like that in the interior; they still had cities to repair and populations had shifted. He could set Norway up in one of the refitted cities and let him claim it as his people's new home. Two birds with one stone then; it gave them a place where they could keep their ways and that, in turn, would keep Norway alive.

And very safely out of the way of any more of this damned insanity. Every world war had pushed them all, but this time it had come much too close to simply killing Norway outright. He just wouldn't change how he handled anything. Or so Denmark had always thought. Watching him now, turning that dial endlessly and listening, a sickening realization descended on him.

Norway _had_ changed in this; once he would have been demanding- if not outright taking -the Danish fleet to return to his land and hunt for survivors himself. He wouldn't trust Denmark to do it, he wouldn't be sitting here turning a useless knob and listening in hope of hearing some report. The motion wasn't even as hopeful as it had been once.

The smaller blond simply leaned against the table, head cradled on one arm as the other hand worked the dial listlessly; he wasn't even looking at the radio. Instead, his eyes were fixed on the window and the view that grew a little darker day by day. The ocean winds kept the worst of the ash cloud away but as it grew thicker over the globe, it was eventually going to take hold here as well.

The Dane sighed and pushed away from the frame, though Norway gave no reaction to his deliberately heavy stride. Either he had known Denmark was there all along, or he simply didn't care. The taller nation came to stand behind Norway and reached down to pull his hand away from the dial as his other hand slipped down to brush over his forehead.

The skin was still too hot, too dry; the Dane shouldn't have hoped otherwise. A few weeks was not nearly long enough to recover from something like this. It could be decades or longer…if he ever made a full recovery at all.

"You shouldn't be out of bed, Norge…" He let his hands slip down to gather the smaller nation up; this time there was no fighting or arguing, just a silent form of resignation. Dulled violet eyes remained fixed in that uncaring stare as Denmark carried him back to his bed; some days were better than others. Sometimes Norway almost seemed like himself again.

But most days were like this, now. The other silent, unresisting in the way only a doll should be. He had barely heard so much as three whole sentences out of Norway since bringing him back to his house.

Denmark settled him on the bed again and tucked the blankets up about him, though he lingered to brush his lips against the other's forehead in an attempt to reassure or at least raise a protest or insult, something. Silence was his only reward as he waited, then he sighed softly against blond hair.

"It will be all right, Norge; I'll make everything right again, I promise." That brought a flicker of expression at least, though he must have been mistaken. Apprehension had touched that unresponsive mask briefly…why? "Just rest; everything is being taken care of."

No further reaction rose from the smaller nation in reply; Denmark shook his head and stood straighter. He waited until the other's eyes closed and walked out of the room again, clicking the radio off as he went.

The Dane wasn't used to wondering if he was doing the proper thing; his decisions had always been swift and well thought out when it truly mattered. This time wasn't any different. So why did Norway continue to draw away from him? Was he doing something wrong and didn't realize it?

He cared for the other nation's needs: shelter, food, drink, clothing, medicine- for both the incarnation that bore the country's name and for his people. Because of that, the Norwegians and Norway would survive, if in a lessened form. How could he be going wrong in doing all of that?

Frustration followed him back to his desk as he settled down to try to attend to the necessary paperwork; he needed to draw up the plans for adjusting one of those cities for Norway's use. It wouldn't get his mind off the other's apprehension but it would at least help prove he was doing all of this for him, wouldn't it?

The pen had barely touched the paper when a soft sound rose from the other room: the radio was on again. Denmark closed his eyes and set the pen down, uttering a soft and helpless feeling curse to the room around him.

"How can I help you, Norge, when you're doing everything you can to make sure I can't..?"


	6. 5 Cathartic Chance

Author: Cyhirae  
Edited: Lumineux

Disclaimer: Hetalia, the characters and the songs referenced are not mine or Lumineux's; they belong to their respective creators. We just borrowed them for this dark little story.

* * *

Papers rustled like leaves as they slid from Norway's fingers to scatter across Denmark's desk. The Dane blinked and looked up in some consternation as the shorter nation glared down at him, as he let the last of those papers drift where ever they happened to land.

"Norge, what's wrong? Those papers, they're-"

"A bad joke." Norway's voice wasn't as calm as he by and large looked; it was tight and somewhat shaking as he stepped back, shaking his head. "What do you think you're doing, Danmark?"

"What do I- keeping you alive- what do you think I've been trying to do all along?" The Dane began to gather up the scattered papers, trying to put them back in order. The pages already in his hand were quickly snatched away, however, and held up by Norway loosely.

"By doing this? By making me a city; not even a city-state?" Fingers curled to crinkle the papers further; then he tossed them on the desk and began to stride away. "I refuse. My people have no leader so I will make the call. We never will have one if this goes through."

"Now what are you going on about? You'll have autonomy-"

"Semi-Autonomy; in the end it is your boss who will have the final say and that I have to answer to." Again. It was starting to look like Denmark-Norway again in all ways; ultimately he would have no say in the decisions that truly mattered. "We can govern ourselves, Danmark. I will take it as being on loan until we can afford to buy it or move elsewhere, as something we are renting or leasing; but we are not going to become a part of you."

The Dane was visibly taken back by the words and the tone underlying the ever present 'calm'; there wasn't just anger in it, rare as that was to hear out of Norway as well. There was frustration but more importantly- there was some kind of fear lurking behind all of the words. What could he have possibly done to earn that?

"I am not a house pet and neither are my people; we are recovering and we can look after ourselves. Why do you always have to overdo it? You said you wanted to keep me alive; you have. I'm alive; I'm recovering and so are they."

He paused at the door and looked back as he heard paper shuffling; crinkled and abused as they were, Denmark quietly gathered them back up. The pages were still unsigned. He had offered them up to Norway as an assurance that everything was going to be fine before they asked the Norwegians to take a vote on them in lieu of having an actual leader to speak for them.

And this was the thanks he was getting?

"Norge, will you listen to yourself? You have people but that's it! You have no government, no means of income- nothing! It's a miracle you're even surviving!"

"There was a time that was all we needed; have you forgotten that? I am open to renegotiation, Danmark; but I am not accepting that-"

Denmark's hand closed on Norway's wrist and hauled him back into the room, then caught his shoulder with his other hand and shoved him firmly against the wall to keep Norway pinned. Violet eyes glared back at Denmark with more life than they had shown in the past several weeks; a sight the Dane would have been grateful for if it hadn't been under these circumstances.

""Let go, Danmark!"

"I haven't forgotten; I also know that was a damned long time ago! The world isn't like that anymore; if you go out there like this-"

"I know what I need to do; you're the one who can't see past his own behavior-" Norway snapped back, eyes narrowed.

"My _behavior_? Do you have any idea what I've been going through for the past several years every time I looked at that damned ash cloud hanging in the north sky?" Denmark glared in frustration down at the smaller nation.

"Look at how you're acting now if you want an example of your 'behavior'! You did what you wanted to do; I can do the rest!"

"Damn it, Norge! Every time we sent a transmission over there trying to get someone to respond, I was right there- every damned time nothing came back. I thought you were dead, and I still talked my boss into sending a search team over!"

"I know that; and I am not ungrateful for it! But you never know when to stop helping, Danmark."

"You probably would be dead by now if I hadn't!" Anger sharpened Denmark's tone as he shifted his grip against the other's struggles.

"I will not let this be like it was centuries ago; it will not be easy but we will last! You have helped us get through the worst of it; now let us go- let me go."

Norway brought his knee up hard against Denmark's stomach, knocking the breath out of the other as he shoved him back. The taller nation staggered back as he tried to get his breath back; Norway took the chance then to stride for the door. As far as he was concerned, the argument was over.

"Th-the worst of it?" Denmark forced that out between gasps, then took a single deep breath and bounded after Norway. He caught the other by the shoulder this time and all but threw him into the desk, then caught the back of his neck and put a knee to his back to keep him pinned. He forced the smaller nation to look to the left, where a map of Europe was displayed; a map every bit as tattered as the continent itself was now, from all the hand-drawn in corrections and changes that had been done over the years. "You think you've already been through the worst of it, just because you're not up there? Look at that map, Norge! The 'worst' is just starting! If you go out there now, even as just a city-state, you're nothing but a target- and you think you can survive that? Where's your military? Who's going to defend you when raiders come, or armies? That damned attitude is what got you into this state! Always trying to-"

The rant broke off as he looked downward from that map himself…Norway's eyes were closed to the sight of the map in a grimace of pain as he struggled to keep air in his lungs against the other's weight. The sickness had not fully backed away; it wouldn't for some time as his people continued to cope with the effects- but it had been easy to forget with Norway acting more like himself for a few moments.

It had been easy to forget just how frail he still was and could very well be from now on. Denmark eased himself back from the other, forcing that grip to loosen as he took a deep, calming breath. He had to remember that; Norway was still ill, still recovering from it all. He had been saying similar things when he had first found him, if less coherently.

He had to be patient with Norway; plainly his ability to reason was still less than whole. Denmark stepped closer again, this time to help the other up as he began to cough viciously after a slightly too deep and ragged a breath.

"Damn it.. Norge, I'm sorry." He ignored the other's attempts to shove him away as the coughing continued; he simply gathered him up as he had back in those ruins and carried him back to the room set aside for him. It was plain enough the other nation still wanted to protest; Denmark felt a twinge of guilty gratitude to the illness that kept him choked silent so he couldn't.

The situation had them all frayed. He couldn't ask Norway to be reasonable when he was in such straits. Denmark settled him on the bed, then sat down beside him, rubbing the other's back to try to help the coughs ease off. Finally they devolved to shuddering gasps and Denmark stood, brushing his hand against the other's hair.

"…Just give me a chance, Norge. You need me right now; you can't even defend yourself." A fact painfully proven only a moment ago; once a kick like that would have left Denmark on the floor, not just getting his breath back. "I'll make everything work for the best; you don't have to keep pushing me away."

No response rose from the other nation. Denmark sighed and leaned closer, frowning to see the eyes half lidded and vague; he had gotten carried away. He scolded himself quietly as he straightened again, then shrugged his coat off to cover Norway with in place of the blankets he laid on.

"I need to go; they will be taking the vote soon. Just..rest, Norge. It will all work out, I promise it will. Give me this chance to prove it to you." That said, Denmark waited for a reply; again none came. He sighed and walked out the door, shaking his head.

This required patience and understanding. If he kept blowing up at Norway every time his sickness got the better of him and made him unreasonable, then he wouldn't blame the other at all for being afraid. They were going to have to work together to get him through this; once he was a little steadier, Norway would understand that.

But until then, patience and understanding also meant knowing what risks not to take. As he closed the door behind him, he turned back to it and twisted the outside lock; the sound of a deadbolt shooting home filled the hall.

"It's for your own good, Norge; please understand that."


	7. 6 Remembrance

Author: Cyhirae  
Edited: Lumineux

Disclaimer: Hetalia, the characters and the songs referenced are not mine or Lumineux's; they belong to their respective creators. We just borrowed them for this dark little story.

* * *

With the curtains drawn, it hadn't taken the room long to grow dark. Denmark had not come back; Norway hadn't expected him to after that. He laid there for a time, getting his breath steadied out before he rose from the bed; he had heard the bolt set into place, but he crossed the room to it anyway and gave it an experimental push. The heavy door barely so much as rattled with the attempt.

"Damn it…" He turned to the window next, curtains thrown aside and searched it for any kind of means to be opened; when it became apparent it was never meant to be opened, he beat against the glass in a low growl of frustration.

It didn't even so much as crack. Trust that Denmark would think of something practical like shatterproof glass for his home's windows. He could be such an unobservant idiot some days but on others? He was entirely too forward thinking for anyone's liking.

Somewhere down there, the remaining Norwegians were hearing out Denmark's proposal with no idea of what it would mean in the long term. Norway leaned his head against the glass, eyes closed; the glass was far too cool for this time of year, but he barely noticed. He had to get out and to them somehow- he had to warn them what taking the easy solution would mean.

Selfish? Yes, maybe it was…but he would never forget nearly four hundred years of watching his people be the bottom rung of Denmark's society. They had been in their own "Dark Ages" then; they were signing on for another if the let this happen. He had to warn them.

The window refused to give anymore on a second pounding than it had on the first; nor did the door prove anymore forgiving than it had on the initial try. He shook and beat on it, yelling to try to get the attention of anyone that might be passing by; there wasn't even the sound of foot steps coming by in curiosity.

There was no one else in this house to even hear him, let alone set him loose. He was trapped in here until Denmark saw fit to set him loose again. The vote would be over long before that came to pass. Frustration clawed at his throat in rough, helpless gasps that threatened to become coughing again rising up as his teeth ground together.

There were so few of his people now he could all but feel each one settling on their particular vote. He closed his eyes again as he felt that wave of decision sweeping over his people. Norway began to think back to a time not so long ago where he had been on his own and doing well by it; but no. Even that had been filled with its uncertain moments and had not existed without interruption.

There had not been a true century of true independence since the days of what so many erroneously referred to as the dragon ships. They had stood on their own in the time between World War II and World War III, but it had not been even a solid century since II. No, when they roamed the seas was when Norway had known freedom in its truest of forms.

Before the plague, before the famines- Denmark had challenged him, as had Sweden and he had given as good as he got, if not better. But it was when they had taken to the seas that they had truly made their mark on the world; fierce, independent and fearing no one at all.

There had been no cowering in dark rooms or thoughts of giving up even a bit of that freedom for the safety of letting someone else make the decisions for him. The Anglo and Celtic islands had been the ones living in terror then and they had even touched on the far shores of what people would later call "The New World".

Norway curled his fingers into the carpet roughly, tearing bits of the yarn free. What he wouldn't give to have those days back again; he'd trade all the technology that had followed for them. His people didn't share that sentiment en masse, however. They wanted their lives back to how they were before the bombs fell; before the sicknesses and radiation had driven them to the only 'safe' places in his land, high into the mountains and glaciers where no bombs or missiles had been sent.

The only trouble to that ploy had been the unforgiving winters, no kinder in their way than the other things that ravaged the people.

It was ironic; both he and his people longed for 'what had been'; his desires merely went further back than a handful of years ago. Unlike his, however, theirs could be more easily re-attained…at a price.

With every vote cast, he could feel the bars raising higher and drawing nearer; some voted against, bless them…but they were too few. The majority of his people were sick, tired and wanted to have some security in their lives again. He couldn't fault them for that.

He only wished he wasn't the one that would have to pay for it, along with their future generations.

The final vote was cast; he could feel his fate settling on him already. The takers of the vote would be counting them well into the night before it was official, but he didn't need a count. They had chosen security over the unknown; a chance to get their lives in order and then, perhaps, beginning the long and painful process of restoring their homeland- and by necessity, that of Sweden and Finland as well, to avoid the toxins and diseases from simply returning with each year's passing.

Denmark would gladly fund that effort, he was sure. He always made such grand, sweeping gestures to show how generous he was. Naturally, some kind of return was expected, however. That was simply how things worked.

It was going to be a very long time before Norway was properly Norway again and not a Danish city or territory, if ever it did. It had taken a downright infuriating situation for his people to properly break free in the first place. If the boat wasn't rocked by someone else, they simply adapted and moved on.

He would do the same, he knew. And he hated himself for it, at this moment…but what could any of the nations do save follow their people's wishes, particularly when there was no leader to check opinion and call attention to details?

There was the sudden sound of footsteps outside the door; it had been over two centuries now since he'd actively lived in this house and he still knew the sound of Denmark's stride. He reached up to grab the knob as he heard the lock coming undone; he didn't want to see him right now.

The knob jiggled about in his hand as Denmark attempted to open the door; Norway turned toward it, grabbing it with both hands to keep it still. After a moment, there was a sigh and the knob ceased its attempts to turn, with a dull thump on the other side.

"All right, Norge…we'll discuss it tomorrow then. …Try to get some sleep…" Then the steps went back down the hall. The bolt was not set in place this time; it would be easy to simply open the door and leave, if he were anything but a nation.

The lock wasn't needed to keep him in now. Norway released the knob and leaned against the door, fist thumping hard against the wood.

"You always mean so well, Danmark…but why is it you can never listen to what someone is telling you?"


	8. 7 Possession's Fairytale

Author: Cyhirae  
Edited: Lumineux

Disclaimer: Hetalia, the characters and the songs referenced are not mine or Lumineux's; they belong to their respective creators. We just borrowed them for this dark little story.

* * *

Reconstruction had begun on the city the week following the votes. A few surviving Norwegian architects had revealed themselves to help in the planning; doing all they could to make it properly theirs as opposed to a Danish city inhabited by Norwegian refugees.

Norway had taken to lingering there to watch the construction happen; and above all, hoping to find someone who had begun to take charge of his people. But Denmark's meticulous planning was plain to see. There would be Norwegian representatives in various positions, of course; but the final say laid with Denmark's boss and government.

Semi-Autonomy; essentially a glorified mayorship for the current 'leader'. Norway hadn't even bothered to meet the person; they were a figurehead and little else. They themselves had little desire to be much else during this time of rebuilding. But…his people were becoming more content, more hopeful. He should be grateful for that…and he was, he truly was. The pain and chaos of only a few months ago felt more like a nightmare than something that had truly happened for him and for them.

If the cycle held true, the later generations would curse them for it. But what more could he do?

Hands settled on his shoulders from behind, then slipped around to draw him back from the window as Denmark announced his arrival with a light kiss against Norway's hair. They stood there for a few moments as the smaller nation continued to observe his people's claiming of this place…and Denmark observed his reactions to what he saw.

There hadn't been another argument since the one; Denmark had done his best to be patient and considerate of Norway's health and instability. Just as he'd thought, as his people had settled and began to rebuild themselves in the city, Norway had calmed. He no longer pushed Denmark away or made insane demands such as being left on his own in the mad house Europe had become.

This was the Norway he knew; the one he had spent four hundred years and more with. He wouldn't be so careless as to lose him again now that he'd been given this second chance.

He pulled Norway closer to him, arms tightening as he leaned to brush his lips against the other's neck gently; there was still no attempt to break free or stop him, though there was little encouragement either. The silence remained unbroken as he pulled Norway further from the window, then turned him to face him.

The two studied each other in silent reflection for a time before Norway felt Denmark's hand slip under his chin, tilting his head upward as the other leaned down again to place a kiss against his lips. It was almost hesitant at first as the taller nation waited for some sign of refusal. Norway stiffened a moment, nearly pushing away; but as one of Denmark's arms circled around his back to tug him closer, the smaller nation simply closed his eyes in resignation.

He didn't hate Denmark; he never had. He was a damned fool and presumptive to the extreme…but he had always meant well. He was never going to understand, no matter how carefully or concisely Norway tried to explain it.

Not when doing the 'right thing' got him everything he wanted. And there simply wasn't enough will left to fight in Norway care anymore. He had fought already; first in the war, then to escape Denmark…

There simply wasn't any point to fighting anymore.

Denmark deepened the kiss as he felt the resistance that had begun to stiffen Norway's back fade. He slid his hand down from Norway's chin to brush against his throat, then began to slowly work the buttons of the shirt open. His other hand slipped under the shirt from behind and trailed lazily along his back and spine…

The scars any nation inevitably acquired were rough beneath his fingers, but there were so many more than he remembered. He never should have let go; if the Union had never been broken, these newer scars never would have taken hold. Not in so great a number at very least.

"I'm sorry, Norge…" The words were murmured gently as he pulled back and the shirt was sent to the floor; winter pale skin showed far too clearly every scar the wars had left to Denmark's eyes. "This never should have happened to you..."

He gathered the other nation in his arms then and carried him away from the window, where the light could not so clearly show those terrible scars. He settled Norway against the covers gently, then kissed him lightly against the throat before moving to claim his lips again. Cloth rustled as he sat up to discard his own shirt; scarred as well in the wars but not nearly so terribly as the nation that lay below him.

He had learned to pick his battles rather than fight every one to come his way as Norway did. It left its marks, but none so terrible as what marred the smaller nation. Norway finally raised his hand to a scar on the Dane that was new to him, but plainly old, cutting down across the breastbone and far older than the smaller ones that traced an intricate map over the other. Denmark caught his hand and gently pulled it from where it traced, pressing it up against his lips.

Between them, from a chain about Denmark's neck, an old but well polished ring dangled, glinting in the dim light.

"Danmark…" Norway's voice was quiet; unsteady in a way at the sight of both the scar and the ring. He recognized it; he had worn it ages ago…."You kept that..? I-"

"I never forgot it. I would never let myself forget it." He cut the other off quickly and the scar of the sundering of the last vestiges of the Kalmar Union vanished from sight as Denmark leaned down and kissed him again. He finally had his chance to set that loss right; he wasn't going to squander it now. He wasn't going to remember how the ring had come to rest at his feet, thrown there by an enraged Norway on learning he was to be given to Sweden.

It would never happen again. He wouldn't let it happen.

The shadows of the room deepened as the two nations were truly joined again; outside, the city that would be both Norway's salvation and his cage continued to be built. At last, the work for the day ended and night took the half rebuilt city in its hold even as Denmark kept Norway in his.

At last, the chain was slipped off in the darkness of the room; Norway trembled as he felt the metal they had warmed slip onto his finger again before Denmark's arms wrapped tightly around him to pull him close again. The nights were getting steadily cooler by the day, though it was not yet into autumn…the Dane's presence, at least, was warm and familiar, even after all of this time.

"I've missed you so much, Norge…" The words were murmured gently as Denmark began to drift to sleep, arms drawing about Norway as he spoke. "…I won't lose you again…not to anyone…promise."

Norway waited until the Dane's eyes had closed and his breathing evened out before he replied to that 'promise', feeling the ring on his finger with all the weight of a shackle.

"No…you won't. Not even to me, will you…?" He rested his head against Denmark's shoulder and finally let the tears he had held in place for weeks escape in a shuddering sob. The larger nation's arms tightened around him reflexively at the touch of the cooling air where the tears fell as he let out a contented sigh in his sleep.

And all around him, Norway could hear the sound of the cage's door swinging shut.


End file.
